


Dream a Little Dream

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Choking, Dreams, F/F, Guilt, Holding Hands, Psychological Trauma, Sleep, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Sleeping with Rowena results in an accident and tremendous amounts of guilt.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Kudos: 19





	Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this post](https://charlesoberonn.tumblr.com/post/190333989980/pr1nceshawn-the-very-best-and-very-worst-sleeping) and miss-moon-guardian's idea.

Sleeping with Rowena was one of the best things in the world.

She was so small, so warm, perfect to wrap your arms around and hold against you. Sometimes she spooned you; other times you were the big spoon. There were times when you wrapped around each other, and those when you turned your backs to one another, butts brushing together.

Her hair tended to get in your face from time to time, red tendrils sprawling over your mouth and neck like snakes. There was that one time when you rolled over and pushed her off the bed; unconsciously so, but it hadn't stopped her from moaning dramatically as if she'd been hit by a truck and throwing you dirty looks all throughout the day.

Once, you'd managed to drool on her shoulder. A gross, incredibly embarrassing moment, but one you'd come to remember with humor rather than the initial discomfort. It had become a weapon Rowena liked to utilize to win silly arguments, to which you were always quick to respond with a middle finger or a raspberry. Or both, because why not go all the way, seeing as you were already engaged in childishness?

Many adventures were had in the bedroom, sexual escapades excluded. When one dated someone as peculiar as Rowena MacLeod, it was to be expected. The woman was extra in every sense of the word, even when she was asleep.

She loved cuddles (though she never asked for them aloud, the proud creature she was. You'd learned to recognize her body language for demanding them — not that it was hard for open arms and a pout accompanied by trembling lips could only say so much), but she also loved to sprawl all over the bed, taking up all the space as if she were still sleeping alone. You were no stranger to waking up with her arm or leg thrown over you, her hair in your mouth, covers shoved to the floor.

Tonight you'd gone to sleep rather simply. You were on your back, with Rowena's head resting on your chest. Your arm was wrapped around her, holding her against you. She fell asleep to the sound of your heartbeat; you, on the other hand, dozed off listening to her breathing, softly, calmly, her skin on yours filling you with warmth.

Having her so close gave you a sense of security. She was your home, your refuge, your everything. Your safe haven. The one person you knew you could count on.

You still couldn't fathom how you'd managed to get her to trust you, of all people. How you'd managed to get her to put her guard down, to let herself care about you, and, ultimately, love you. The woman was an acquired taste; she was demanding, bitchy, dramatic enough to put a Broadway actress to shame. And, underneath it all was a person. One hidden away beneath layers of coldness, behind steel walls. Terrified of the world around her, cruel and unforgiving.

You could see bits and pieces of that woman, and, with time, Rowena had allowed you to meet her. It was a privilege of the highest order, and you treated it as such, swearing to never do anything to jeopardize it. To never tear her heart out and crush it before her eyes with a wicked smile on your mouth.

To never hurt her the way she'd been hurt before.

Every time you told her you loved her, you meant it. And every time she said it back, you knew she felt it just as much. Because, as complicated as she was, Rowena wasn't difficult to figure out once you got to know her — really, truly know her, heart and soul alike.

When she cuddled up with you tonight, you knew it was a gesture of love. Unlike you, she wasn't too big on telling. But when it came to showing, she was a professional. Curling up against you was one of her favorite things. She was like a kitten like that, a small bundle of fluff and joy. And when you put your arm around her, the sound that she let out sounded suspiciously like a purr.

It was an ordinary night, no different than any other this week, and the one before that. Settling down did wonders for one's life. No hunters or monsters lurking about. No apocalypses on their way. Just a nice, normal suburban life.

You were dreaming of… something. You weren't entirely sure what it was. It was _something,_ and — you were holding it. Yes, that was right. You were holding it for, despite not knowing what it was, you knew it was of immense importance. You had to keep it safe. You couldn't let it get into the wrong hands.

Someone you couldn't see smacked your arm. You tightened your hold on the _thing._ Mustn't lose it. Must keep it safe. The person persisted, hitting you, kicking at you, muttering… something, their voice too choked up, too cracked to properly let the words out.

All you knew was, they wanted your treasure.

And you wouldn't let them have it.

The more they fought you, the harder you held on. This was your possession, your prize, whatever the hell it was. You weren't going to give it up without a fight.

Or so you thought until pain unlike any you'd felt before shot through your arm and everything faded into blinding darkness.

Your eyes snapped open. Your breathing was fast, uneven, chest heaving as if you'd run for miles. Your arm was on fire, hot, slick blood trickling down your skin. Pouring out of wounds resembling crescents, that stung as if freshly sharpened knives had bit into your skin.

 _What the fuck? What the_ fuck?!

A sound of coughing, of hard, labored breathing startled you. Rowena was beside you on the bed, on her knees, hungrily sucking in breath after breath before pushing it out. Her hands were on her neck, skin crimson red, vibrant as her hair. Her eyes were wide, face pale as if she'd seen a ghost. Tears stained her cheeks, falling mercilessly one after the other. Dripping onto her lacy black pajamas.

You instantly sprung upright, protective mode kicking in. "Rowena!" Your reached for her shoulder.

She smacked your hand away.

The rejection stung. What happened? Why didn't she want you to touch her? Usually, she welcomed it. Touching her shoulder always calmed her, grounded her. Told her, without a single word spoken, that she was safe. That you were there and you weren't going to let anything happen to her — never again. Then your arms would open and she would snuggle in and let you hold her, for an hour if she needed it. She would cry and you would rock her, whisper softly to her, soothe her as if she were a child.

Why didn't she want it now? Why didn't she want _you?_

_Wait a minute…_

The dream. You holding onto something. Someone trying to make you let it go. You stubbornly refusing to let go. The stabbing pain. The bleeding wounds on your arm.

_Oh, my god!_

Had _you_ hurt her? Had that something you held so vigorously been her head? Had you tried to choke her?

Had she, desperate to free herself of your grasp, scratched you?

_God. Jesus. Fuck!_

"Rowena," you said as softly as you could, guilt shooting through you like acid, eating you up from the inside, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It had been three years since her most horrible death — since Lucifer, whose name had become all but a curse in this house — and choking was still a painful subject for her. The two of you used to role play; now, if she allowed you to grab her neck, it came with strict rules. She still had nightmares of the bastard showing up at her door, his hands on her neck, squeezing with force unlike any she'd ever felt. She still saw his face — his true face, horror personified. Still felt his boots slamming on her head, her skull giving in, bones cracking under the pressure. Still screamed and cried about it, felt the pain as her skull gave in and flames started licking at her skin, eating her up bit by little bit.

You swore to never let it happen again.

And now you'd hurt her — just as he had.

"Are you okay?" you asked — a stupid question, really, for she was certainly not okay. She was far from okay.

"I—" Rowena sucked in another breath. Pushed it out. Rinse and repeat. Swallowed the lump that had formed in her bruised throat. "I'm fine."

Physically, maybe, but you knew her mental state was far from fine. Was she back in that hotel room with Lucifer? Was she losing her breath, having her skull crushed, laying motionless in a pool of her own blood as fire devoured her?

"I just need a minute," she added.

A minute of you not touching her. A minute away from you.

A more than fair request, given the circumstances.

"Okay," you said with a nod, not that she could see it. "I'm really sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean to. I was dreaming, and I guess I must've—"

"It's fine," she cut you off.

It wasn't. Not by a longshot. "I'm really sorry." What else could you say? You hadn't meant to hurt her, but you did. It happened. You couldn't erase it, no matter how much you wanted to.

Rowena turned to you. Locked her red-rimmed eyes with yours. "I know, darling." A smile bloomed on her mouth; loving, encouraging, one of those smiles she gave you whenever you needed comfort.

Relief flooded through you. She wasn't mad. At least there was that.

"Can I?" Your eyes trailed to her hands, now resting on her lap.

Without a word, she reached for your hand. You squeezed, fingers wrapping over hers, holding on as if your life depended on it. It felt good to hold her, to feel her skin, soft as a caress and warm as home, on yours.

It was an intimate moment. She was vulnerable, fragile, and she let you see it. She let you in just as she had countless times before.

Only you.

"Did I squeeze hard?" If the red on her neck was any indication, you'd had quite a grip.

She nodded, and your heart sank, guilt stinging, tearing into you like a blade.

"You've got quite a grip, lass." Her tone was light, joking.

You weren't laughing. You wanted to cry. "I'm sorry."

She shot you a pointed stare. "How many times are you going to apologize?"

A thousand, if it would ease your guilt. If it would make it right. Swallowing, you said, "I had this dream that I was holding something under my arm."

"That would be my head," Rowena said, deadpan.

"Someone was trying to take it, so I kinda fought them."

"That would be me."

"I'm sorry." Her eyebrow rose. Stare intensified. You sighed. "I'm-I don't know what else to say. I feel really bad. I didn't wanna hurt you."

Her expression softened. "I know, Y/N. Let us move past it."

Okay. You could do that. It sounded like a good idea.

In theory.

The guilt still ate at you. Your heart still ached. You could put on a front, be all smiles and rainbows, but on the inside you would still tear yourself apart. The past three years hadn't been easy; you'd been there through the nightmares, the flashbacks, the crying fits as random memories struck. You'd watched her fall apart, over and over, and pull herself back together. You'd held her. Loved her. Supported her.

Only to now hurt her.

How were you supposed to get past that?

It may have been an accident, but the fact still remained that you were the one who'd hurt her. You were the one who'd sent her back to that hotel room, who'd made her relive that hell yet again.

"Okay," you said, though it really wasn't. You were willing to try to make it so. You cupped her cheek gently; she leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. A wordless sign of trust. You smiled. "It won't happen again. I promise."

Rowena gave a small nod. "It wasn't that bad."

The drying tears on her cheeks and her still a tad faster than normal breathing said otherwise.

Her eyes fell upon the crescent wounds on your arm. "Did I do that?" There was regret in her tone, a matching expression spilling over her face.

"It's nothing. Just a few scratches." Marks of self-defense. She ran a finger over them, feeling them, inspecting them. The touch was gentle; as much as the wounds stung, there was comfort in it, care. Concern. "It's fine."

"I should see to them," she said.

You weren't the only protective one in this relationship. "Later."

She gave a nod. "I'll make you a potion."

"Okay, Mama Bear." She rolled her eyes at the nickname. You chuckled. "I'm glad you're okay."

"It takes more than a wee headlock to bring me down."

"Tough girl."

"You know it."

You pecked her on the tip of her nose, making her scrunch her face adorably, which, in turn, prompted you to smile. "Come on, let's go back to sleep. It's—" you glanced at your phone, eyes widening in surprise "—five AM. Jesus! I thought it was seven at least."

"We're a bit early," Rowena agreed.

The two of you resumed your positions — you on your back with her beside you, her head on your chest. Your hand tentatively slid around her.

"I'll try not to choke you this time," you said, only partly joking. The last thing you wanted was to hurt her again.

She chuckled. "If you would be so kind."

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Love you, baby."

"I love you, too, darling."

Not long after you both drifted back to sleep.

This time, thankfully, without weird dreams and headlocks.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
